


Those Unspoken Things

by Zi (azro_zee)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Fluff Eater, Not Beta'd, SoMa Week 2019, but mostly dork being cute, with two teaspoons of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-03 23:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azro_zee/pseuds/Zi
Summary: [SoMa Week 2019 Collection] There were many things between them they never talked about. Sometimes a mutual silent knowledge, sometimes things they desperately kept from the other.[Day 8 : Dangerous] Soul had never thought that coral pink lipgloss was dangerous.No, it was downright lethal.





	1. Day 1 : 2 AM

Day 1 : 2 AM [Mangaverse]

* * *

Light sound of a rather dark piano piece was echoing throughout their little apartment. Maka roused from her bed with a sigh, the alarm on the nightstand pointed at 02:04 in the morning.

_He couldn’t sleep again._

She slipped her feet into the stupid baby-pink fluffy bunny slippers Blair got her and stalked to her partner’s room. Instead of knocking, she opened the door quietly. And yes, there he was, sitting on his bed with his right leg sprouting his scythe keyboard. The light was off, but she could see the slightly paler skin of the scar that bisected his bare chest, eerily bold in the darkened moonlight.

“Hey…”

Soul lifted his head, smiling sheepishly, “Hey… Sorry, did I wake you again?”

Maka returned his smile with a lingering sadness. “It’s okay. I’m supposed to keep you company anyway.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Maka cut him off. “But I want to. And I know it’s easier for you if I’m here.”

Her weapon smiled sourly. This had happened almost every night since the battle on the moon two months before. Every time the black moon hung in the dark sky, Soul would grow antsy and having trouble sleeping. He'd never told Maka anything, but she knew he had nightmares and had been violently woken up with his scar hurting almost every night. These days, usually around the witching hour when his blood became nearly unbearable, he would play his soul piano to release his wavelength a bit.

He had determined to keep this from Maka, and he had succeeded for the first week. What he didn’t know was Maka also felt his spiked anxieties and his stirred blood thanks to her now greatly extended Soul Perception. They had been linked so strongly that sometimes it was difficult to tell what feeling was whose. She dismissed the first four episodes as her own trauma over the awful battle, but by the fifth she finally realized those weren’t hers.

That was the point where she was awoken by the sound of a broken piano playing, much like this night, but far worse. She had vaguely realized that she didn’t hear the sounds with her ears, but rather felt it in her soul. She had found her weapon in the dark, gritting his own teeth, trying very hard to keep any whimpers from escaping his mouth. His fogged eyes told her he was away in the Black Room; that was the source of the piano sounds.

She had been livid, had been hurt because he had hide something this important from her, suffering alone every night. But she couldn’t stay angry for a minute longer because Soul had been so miserable, clearly still living whatever nightmare he'd been dreaming and whispering apologies to her until five in the morning. She had enveloped him with her own wavelength, holding him tightly until he drifted off to uneasy sleep at six. They stayed that way until almost noon, with her stroking his hair softly while he napped in her embrace. She was very grateful she had Anti-Demon Wavelength, because she could actually help him instead of just helplessly watching him suffer.

They never clearly talked about it. He just endured the pain silently until she found him, and she just embraced him silently until it faded out. It had been a routine for the past two months.

Luckily, Soul did become better. Stein’s red pills did wonders to improve his physical condition. His episodes were not as bad as the first month, and he had found that physically playing his soul piano helped easing the pain and lightening the mind torture, releasing them in the form of sound waves. And so he did, almost every night, playing his keyboard until Maka walked into his room, listening to his playing while hugging him until morning.

Soul scooted over as Maka climbed to his bed and made herself comfortable behind him. Her hands snaked to his waist while she snuggled to his back, burying her face in his shoulder. Soul let out a contented sigh before playing a piece he started to write the night after the battle.

It was titled _Salve Maria._ A tribute to every fallen soldiers generally, and to Crona specifically.

Maka tightened her hug, letting out all of her own sadness into powerful wavelengths, happy to have a useful way of releasing her grief. Soul answered with a supporting gesture of his own wavelength. They kept supporting each other with their soul waves until the end of the piece. Soul rubbed his bare chest absentmindedly.

“Is it still hurt?” Maka frowned in worry.

Soul answered with a negative hum and a head shake. He could already feel the chest pains dissipating. Maka really was his own personal charm.

“Not really.”

Maka was not wholly convinced, but she nodded anyway. Her right hand gently caressed the jagged skin above his heart, wishing for her to be able to ease his physical pain as well. Soul caught the hand and linked their fingers together, silently telling her that he really was okay.

“Any request?” he asked cheekily, other fingers tapping on random notes.

Maka stifled a blush, “_Your song_, please.”

She could feel her weapon smiling. As he pressed the first note, she was mentally flying to the tiny local cafe where he first played the same song as his introduction, feeling as if she was eleven again. The first time he played it, it was only three minutes long. But he had added second and third movements over the years, making it nearly ten minutes.

The first movement was of his past life, of his dark and twisted soul, of his every anxieties and complexes. The second movement was of his change throughout the years, of his newfound purpose and how he really grew to love himself. The third movement was a lot more brighter than the first two. He only added the last part for Maka to listen after he confessed at Kid’s coronation day (he admitted he had written it far before that). It was of his love for her, of his devotion, of his will to protect her with his life, about how she made his world brighter and made him think that he maybe was worth something. The piece started as dark and twisted but ended in happy but intense tones. The last movement was what molded _his_ song into _their_ song.

When the last note chimed, they both were filled with deep affection for their other half. Maka buried her nose to her weapon’s back and said weapon was chuckling fondly.

“Thanks, Maka… For being here,” he whispered under his breath, feeling his back heated from Maka’s blush. His own pain and fucked up blood was long since forgotten. “Love you.” And he felt his back got warmer.

“Love you too…” came Maka’s timid mumble. It was always amusing to see how his kickass and bold meister could be reduced into a puddle of blushing mess when it came to admitting her own feelings for him. She was good at reading people’s feelings but never quite the best when speaking her own. He supposed it was one of a few things they surprisingly had in common. Well, at least he was better in 'managing to voice the love without setting his face on fire' thing.

“Now you choose,” she commanded to hide her embarrassment.

“Yes, my Meister,” Soul playfully singsonged. He inhaled once before pressing the G note. The piece was his greatest work and his all-time favorite as well.

It was titled _Maka in G Major._

_ _


	2. Day 2 : Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black☆Star frowned at the scene in front of him. This was a whole new level of nursing for one Maka Albarn, best friend or not. But Soul was so clueless. Infuriatingly clueless.

Day 2 : Best Friends [Mangaverse]

* * *

Black☆Star frowned at the scene in front of him.

Soul was in the dispensary (again) for protecting his meister in their latest mission. Stein declared he had to stay overnight, just to be safe. He was okay, overall, but his ribs were bruised and his right arm was cracked, rendering him unable to use his dominant hand. It wasn't like Soul was horrible with his left hand, but Maka insisted of helping him in any way she could, so now Black☆Star watched Maka sat beside her weapon, feeding him her cooking while bickering like old married couple without a care for the world.

Holy Excalibur, she even wiped his mouth like a mother to her child. (Soul pinked horribly and swatted her hands.)

There was a repercussion if they decided to not immediately tell him of their newfound relationship.

When she was done and went out of the room to fetch something, Black☆Star grabbed Soul’s good arm with a little too much force, earning a pained hiss from the red eyed boy. “_What_ in the name of Holy Fettucine Carbonara was _that?!”_

Soul raised his eyebrow, “What was what?”

“Maka—!” Black☆Star pointed at the door, “—nursing you like a fucking little loving girlfriend! ARE YOU TWO DATING? When did this happen?! WHY DIDN’T I GET ANY NEWS?!”

“W—WHA—!” the scythe rapidly went crimson.

“WHEN?! HOW?! WHERE?!”

“Shut up!” Soul hastily tried to cover Black☆Star’s mouth, not that he was successful. He shot a panicked glance at the door before turning back to his loud friend. “No, we’re not dating! What even made you think of that?!”

“Then what happened just now?! Maka Albarn wouldn’t just casually nurse a guy!”

Soul rolled his eyes, “She did that all the time, Star. We’re partners, we take care of each other.”

“Yeah, but dude, I didn’t see Ox spoon-fed Harvar when he broke his arms last week,” Black☆Star stated matter-of-factly. Soul gave him a flat look, but the blue haired boy defiantly held his point. “I tell you, Eater, if you’re not dating yet, then this definitely means she loves you.”

Because Black☆Star indeed had a fucking valid point. Maka Albarn was consisted of 80% man-hate and 20% ignoring boys. She absolutely loathed doing affectionate gestures to the male half of society. She didn’t even try to nurse _him_ when he was injured, and he was her childhood friend; practically her brother figure and the only male she'd wholly trusted before she met Soul.

“Yeah, right,” Soul snorted. “She does love me, Star, but not in _that_ way.”

“No!” the assassin curled his fingers frustratedly, “She loves _LOVES_ you!! As in, I wanna put a ring on this guy and make little shark-toothed babies with him!”

The scythe scowled at him, reddening, “Stop that! We both know that’s impossible. She just does this out of obligation. She thinks I’m injured because of her fault.”

Black☆Star knew the young Death Scythe held feelings for his sister figure since the prehistoric era, but he didn’t know Soul was so determined to deny all of the signs out of fear. The dumb guy.

“Dude, I know that, but I’ve known Maka all her life, and there's absolutely no chance of her doing this kinda thing to a male if there isn’t a deeper feeling included! Her weapon or not! It’s definitely impossible!”

Soul just shrugged, “Maybe because we’re best friends?”

Black☆Star made a frustrated sound, “Whatever, I give up!” and quickly darted outside, leaving a confused Soul.

He nearly collided with Maka on the way out. Fortunately he had the godly reflects to step aside, because she carried a big bowl of water and a washcloth.

“Careful, pigtails!” he said, earning a scowl from the girl. “What’s that for?”

She shot him a flat look, like it was obvious. “Soul can’t take a shower without wetting his injuries, I’m gonna help him wash.”

He suppressed his eyes' urge to go wide. Now this was a whole new level of nursing for one Maka Albarn, best friend or not.

“Sure, go on,” he dumbly held the door open, letting her in.

He stood there for a few more minutes, watching Maka help Soul unbuttoning his shirt and gently wash his chest like it was the most ordinary routine in the world. Black☆Star would just stay silent if he didn’t catch the slight pink on Maka’s face that Soul was so frustratingly unaware of.

He slammed the door shut, didn’t care if the door broke to splinters. He let out a scream loaded with a mix of cringe and frustration.

Clueless.

So infuriatingly clueless.

* * *

Tsubaki perked at the scene in front of her.

The cinema was full. Soul and Maka sat two rows in front of her and the rest of Spartoí. Maybe because there were just ten seats in each row and Kid had _insisted _on making everything in some kind of order, if not symmetrical, by having all the girls took the left five seats and the boys on the right five, leaving Maka and Soul to take the only two seats vacant, which were exactly in the middle of the row, with Maka on the left and Soul on the right.

The others were glued to the screen, bewitched to whatever world the film was about, unaware of a certain interaction in front of them. Well, not her. Tsubaki was never a fan of thriller, and she just tagged along because she loved to spend time with her friends. It was a good thing, she thought, because if she'd paid attention to the film she wouldn’t bear witness to the way Maka hid her face in Soul’s chest or the way Soul flung his arms casually around her shoulder. She was even sure there was no armrest between them.

She watched in fascination. While she was aware of the pair’s mutual feelings for each other, she had received no news about recent development. She felt a little disappointed because Maka didn’t tell her, but mostly she was happy for them.

Tsubaki decided that the film wasn’t a good enough entertainment than this scene right when Maka fed popcorns into Soul’s mouth while he playfully tried to bite her fingers. The meister smacked him and turned back to the screen, but not before making herself comfortable on his chest, hugging the popcorn basket to herself.

Tsubaki mused, puzzled with how intimate they were being. Maka, she could imagine, but Soul Eater? The guy could barely stand a handshake. Even Black☆Star just got a swift one-armed hugs at best. Okay, Maka certainly was his crush, but Soul was a very reserved person. Even with Maka he was still physically detached outside of missions, preferring to stuff his hands to his pockets.

They mostly just stayed that way for the next hour. Tsubaki was started to get bored when suddenly Soul _nuzzled_ his nose to Maka’s neck, earning muffled giggles from his meister. The shadow weapon’s eyes went wide. Now where was this sudden touchy-feely gestures coming from? She definitely had a certain Scythemeister to interrogate.

So when the film ended, she quickly grabbed Maka with toilet as an excuse. When they arrived at the thankfully empty washroom, she fired the question away like Kid’s Death Cannon.

“Okay, Maka-chan, spill! What happened between you guys? Did you two finally dating? Did you confess? Or was it him? Which one of you confessed first? Since when? Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

The poor meister just stood there with wide eyes and a completely scarlet face. “W-w-what are you talking about, Tsubaki-chan?! W-w-w-w-wha—”

“Don’t lie to me, Miss Albarn! I saw Soul-kun flung his arms around you and even _nuzzled_ you with my own eyes! Someone like him wouldn’t get that physical unless a special relationship is involved!”

“Wha— you mean what we did in the cinema?”

Tsubaki nodded eagerly, her eyes gleaming. “So spill the beans already, Maka-chan.”

Maka let out a giggle, “No way, Tsubaki-chan. That’s just how he always is. We’re not dating. He just likes to cuddle.”

“Wha—” Tsubaki sputtered. “Maka-chan, those gestures were certainly a couple thing! There’s no way a person as reserved as Soul-kun would just _nuzzle_ you out of nowhere! I know he hates physical contacts!”

Her friend bursted out laughing this time, face still pink, “Oh, Tsubaki-chan! You wouldn’t believe if I tell you that boy is a closet _snuggle bunny_! He _always _treats me like his personal hot water bottle!”

Tsubaki’s jaw dropped. Honestly she was more shocked of this information than the nonexistent progress of their relationship. The idea of Soul Eater Evans being a snuggle bunny was as surreal as Kid announcing Guggenheim Museum to be his new aesthetic.

“Why did I never see this before?” she whispered, still stunned.

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough?” Maka airily answered, touching up her lipgloss. “Like you said, he’s a very reserved person. I guess doing it so openly is, like he said, uncool.”

Tsubaki nodded absently, applying her own lip cream. But she stopped midway.

Wait a minute, maybe the progress wasn’t nonexistent after all.

“But Maka-chan, Soul-kun just reveals this side of him only to you, right? Isn’t that a sign that he views you as someone special?”

Maka shrugged and questioned back without hesitation, “Isn’t that because we’re best friends?”

Tsubaki gaped at her friend as she followed her walking out of the toilet. They were awaited by the rest of Spartoí to head to Deathbucks. Maka and Soul walked the slowest. Tsubaki could see over her shoulder that Soul subtly closed the gap between them with each step.

Maka was right when she said Tsubaki never looked hard enough. When she peeked again, Soul’s hand was intertwined with Maka’s. But she also saw that his eyes were soft and fond, while Maka was happily chattering at his side, blissfully unaware.

Tsubaki mentally slammed her face. Maybe Maka was the one who didn’t look hard enough.

Clueless.

So frustratingly clueless.


	3. Day 3 : Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having nothing to entertain him or a friend to talk to, Soul slowly resigned himself to live with his dad at the end of summer. There was no way he could live there without being bored to death. That was, if he didn’t find a particular girl climbing the fence into his backyard with a bag of fertilizer in hand.
> 
> “Normal human won’t climb their neighbor’s fence to ensure their tomatoes’ well-being, y’know?”

Day 3 : Stay [AU]

* * *

“Soul, come here and make that lazy ass of yours useful! These tomatoes need water!”

Soul looked up from his napping spot beside the garden and stared grumpily at his girlfriend and her beloved greens. Well, _his family’s_ greens, technically.

“One would think you love those plants more than me,” he grumbled to the parsleys.

His family’s garden was ridiculously wide, with all sorts of fruits and vegetables sprouting all over the place. It was a beautiful view to be seen, if not for the inhumane amount of works his girlfriend made him do to keep them alive.

Maka had enslaved him at his own garden since morning, watering plants and harvesting potatoes. Soul thought begrudgingly, maybe he shouldn’t make the choice to stay.

But of course, he knew he’d never meant it.

It was a year ago, when his parent’s relationship had met its doom. He had to leave the glamorous city life of New York and move to this little village he wasn't sure what the name was. Well, the choice was either living with his dad and endure stuffy aristocrat life in the city or going with his big brother and mom to live in the middle of nowhere.

Their destination was the childhood home of his mom. It was a peaceful house, with many trees at the front yard and a huge garden at the backyard. It was a cool place to chill, yeah, if he could ignore the lack of signal in his smartphone and the need to ride twenty miles to the nearest high school.

It was still summer break, fortunately, so he had plenty of times to think of the wisest choice about which parent he should live with for the sake of his education and convenience.

One of his greatest problem was, despite his laziness, Soul was very prone to boredom. The village had no tourist destination or other entertainment sources whatsoever. He didn’t have any social skills to start hunting for a friend either. He was jealous of his brother because he could bring his violin with him, while of course Soul couldn’t take his grand piano there.

Having nothing to entertain him or a friend to talk to, Soul slowly resigned himself to live with his dad at the end of summer. There was no way he could live there without being bored to death.

That was, if he didn’t find a particular girl climbing the fence into his backyard with a bag of fertilizer in hand that afternoon.

She had an ashy gold colored hair, a tiny figure, and a sparkling set of wide green eyes. Her way of dressing was childish and adorable. The first impression Soul had for her was ‘cute’.

He watched in amazement how she casually fertilized a square of plants while humming off-key to herself. She didn’t appear to know of his presence, gardening happily as if it was her own house. She continued her works until she got up to turn on the sprinklers. That was the moment she first landed her eyes on Soul.

“Wha—who are you?!” she squawked defensively, holding out a spade.

“Who _am I?!”_ Soul yelped back, “Who _are you?!”_

The girl still held her weapon firmly, “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

Soul rolled his eyes. “That’s my line you’re speaking. Considering I live in this house.”

Her hand faltered at his sentence, face rapidly going scarlet. “This… This is your house?”

“Well, technically it’s my mom’s, but yeah.”

She dropped the spade without warning and darted to the fence for escape. Luckily for him he had longer legs. In an instant he was already on her heels and grabbed her wrist right before she could climb the fence.

“Wait!”

“Let go!” she struggled. Soul found out she had an impressive strength for a girl so tiny.

“Hey, stay still, would you? I won’t hurt you or take you to the police. Even if you’re clearly trespassing.” He let go of her, stuffing back his hands into his pockets. To his relief, she also stopped trying to escape, staring at him warily instead.

Woah, she was far cuter from up close.

“Just wanna know who you are and what are you doing in our backyard because I’m sure we didn’t hire no gardener.”

The girl squirmed, grumbling something incomprehensible. Soul leaned in, “What d’you say?”

“Because your family just left the house one day and the plants didn’t deserve to be neglected!” she finally yelled.

“Huh?” Soul blinked. There was no one living in the house since his uncle moved out a year ago, indeed. Well, until his mom arrived four days before. But was it normal for people to casually start taking care of their neighbor’s garden in their absence? He didn’t even know if this girl was his neighbor.

“You should think of the plants before you left them alone! They were so pitiful before I came here, wrinkling and withering away! What should I do? Leaving them to die?” she shouted in defense, challenging him to argue.

Soul stared at her dumbly before burst out laughing, clutching his stomach to keep himself steady. This girl really was interesting.

“What?! Are you making fun of me?!” she yelled in a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Ahah—no, no, just—sorry, you’re real interesting!” he breathed between snickers, “Normal human won’t climb their neighbor’s fence to ensure their tomatoes’ well-being, y’know?”

She flushed prettily at him, mouth twitching in an attempt to not smile. Soul was a little proud he could get that kind of reaction from her. She mumbled something about how important tomatoes were for human body.

“I’m not angry,” Soul said, “Instead, my mom would likely call you her favorite neighbor if she knows what you’re doing.”

The girl smiled timidly at him, peeking sheepishly from behind her lashes.

“I’m sorry I broke into your backyard,” she mumbled below her breath, eyes suddenly sparkled with hope. “So—so can I still visit your garden from time to time?”

“Sure,” Soul jerked his head. “But use the front door next time.”

With that, the girl beamed brightly at him as if he’d just delivered the biggest Christmas present. She held her full-of-dirt hand. “I’m Maka Albarn, by the way.”

Soul took it without hesitation and grinned, “Soul. Soul Evans. And uh, I meant to tell you...” He scratched his cheek and wrinkled his face, gesturing to the area below her left eye. “You have dirt smeared all over your cheek.”

Maka squawked, hastily trying to wipe her face. She’d succeed if her dirty hands didn’t make it even worse. Soul snickered a bit before offering to help. He wiped her cheek gently and suddenly realized she was watching him with curiosity. He stopped wiping but didn’t take his hand down, instead sliding his palm behind her ear and caressing her cheek with his thumb.

Her eyes were so green.

They stood there silently, neither wanted to break the suddenly thickened atmosphere, waiting nervously for the other to start taking the first move.

“Maka! Here’s your tomato seed—whoa, did you grow yourself a boyfriend?” a thundering voice interrupted their moment. It came from a blob of blue that popped above the fence.

Maka immediately swatted his hand and took a couple steps back, eyes widened in panic at the new guy. “Black☆Star!!”

And the rest was history.

There was no chance of him to be bored after that. Maka visited almost every day, to his mom and brother’s amusement, sometimes for gardening, sometimes for _bullying him_ into gardening, sometimes for cooking the vegetables she'd harvested, sometimes just for hanging out with him.

He had the chance to know the cute girl further. He'd learned that she and Black☆Star were the only teens their age in the village. The lack of entertainment and friends made the two kids turned back to the nature to keep them from boredom, and for Maka, her calling was gardening.

But alas, while Black☆Star had his parent’s farm, Maka’s house didn’t have any soil for her to play with except for a tiny lawn in front of her house. Soul was very glad his new house was the garden she sneakily chose to pour her love for crops into. She admitted she'd already admired the house’s garden since she was a kid, but never had the chance to look closer because Soul’s uncle wasn’t the most social person in the area.

The following romantic development between them was just inevitable.

As a bonus, Black☆Star also made himself the bestest bro to ever bro by dragging him out to nearby basketball court every weekend, introducing him to the teenagers from neighboring villages.

Remembering all those times with his now official girlfriend by his side, Soul knew, despite the insane amount of work Maka made him do to preserve her beloved plants, he would never regret his decision to stay.


	4. Day 4 : Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about what could make her Soul that way was so painful. All she wanted to do was to hug him dearly, shelter him from the world and just make sure he was well loved, but she knew it wouldn’t do.

Day 4 : Instinct [Mangaverse]

* * *

“Thank you, Professor!”

Maka bowed as the mad doctor left the dispensary, then turned around to fume at a defiant but a little sheepish Soul.

“You—,” she jabbed a finger to his chest, making him winced a bit, “—are gonna get lettuce as dinner for a week!”

Soul made a protesting sound, he_ hated_ lettuce. “Now that is cruel! Last I checked feeding your scythe rabbit foods wasn’t what exactly written in How to Nurse Your Injured Weapon!”

“So you expect me to be quiet and let you follow How to Be A Good Weapon by taking every strike thrown at me with your body?!”

“Basically,” he nodded.

His meister shrieked something resembling an angry cat. “You’re so infuriating!”

Soul just rolled his eyes. He did felt bad and cursed himself for getting hurt _again_ protecting her, yes, but that was a regular thing, and he didn’t even injured that badly. (Uh, okay, a clean gunshot wound and six stitches on his arm might be a little bad.)

They _both_ got injured a little too much times, given their job description, so he didn’t get why Maka was far more upset than usual. And it was not the sad kind of upset either, but the angry kind of upset. She didn’t get all melancholy and muttered apologies under her breath like she always did whenever he was injured (not that he wanted her to do that, her cries when he'd almost died in Crona’s hands were still haunting his dreams). He let out a confused huff. He was just doing his job of protecting her, reckless and pathetic it might be, but that was what he was trained for.

They had been on a mission to gather their 99 souls for the second time, hunting a serial killer in Spain. The bastard was using both a handgun and a blade. Everything went smoothly before the killer went completely berserk, forcing Maka to flew headfirst into a corner. It was a heartbeat decision Soul made when he saw the enemy leapt forward while Maka was still struggling to stand. He transformed and in an instant, the enemy’s blade was blocked by his left arm and the handgun was firmly held still by his right hand. He didn’t dare to shift the gun’s barrel and risk hitting Maka, so he kept it pointed to himself as the killer pulled the trigger.

Maka read her book beside Soul’s bed in grave silence. If she used more force to flip the pages than usual, she didn’t care. Better if her idiot of a weapon could pick up her foul mood.

Well, he certainly did, because he started fidgeting restlessly under his blanket, glancing at his meister every few minutes. Maka didn’t even bother to fill the silence with conversation, and her rigid posture diminished Soul’s nervous attempts to start one. And when his soul’s pleading was also blocked, he was certain she was being serious. He started to think he really fucked up this time. After an hour more in that thick atmosphere, he decided he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Maka…?” he finally managed, sitting straight. She didn’t give a single hint of hearing him except adding more force to flip a page without destroying it, if it was possible. He sighed, brow furrowed in agony, “Maka, look… I’m sorry. I feel like I did something gravely wrong and I don’t know what, but I’m so sorry. Would you talk to me, please?”

That made her violently slam her book close and whipped her head at him in seething anger. “You’re right!”

Soul mentally flinched at her tone; it was her disappointed voice, and he hate her disappointed voice.

“You’re right, Soul! You don’t even know what you did wrong!”

He lowered his head. “I know… So please tell me so I can fix it.”

Somehow that made her even angrier. “No!”

“Wha—?”

“You can’t fix it if you don’t know that what you did was wrong, Soul!”

Soul opened his mouth to counter, but nothing came out. He indeed didn’t know what the damn thing he did wrong. He fried his brain for an answer, replaying the fight in great detail, looking for something unusual. Still nothing.

“Why did you do it?”

He lifted his face at Maka’s low whisper, she sounded exasperated. “Did what?”

She didn’t answer, instead glancing at his bandaged arm with a grim look. He mirrored her. Ah, that.

“You mean why I shielded you? Maka, it’s my duty as—”

“I know it’s your duty!” she cut him off. “But the way you did it was ridiculous, Soul!”

“Ridi— Maka! He was gonna kill you!” he shouted back, offended. “What other choice did I have?!”

“USE YOUR SCYTHE!!” she spat ferociously. “Use your damn scythe to block the attack! Kick him out of the way! Trip his leg or whatever! But noooo, you chose to stop the blade with your flesh, didn’t you?! You don’t even bother to redirect the gun either!”

Oh. Now when he thought about it… That was right.

“This didn’t happen in our early partnership! You actually used your blade to shield us both and did your best to not getting hurt before, but now you’re not even trying, Soul! I tried to ignore this, but you’re getting worse! Worse than that time in Italy! Or that time when you use_ your own body_ to cushion my fall from Death knew how high! Other weapons were ready to die for their Meisters, yes, but their first instinct was how to _divert_ the blow, not using their _flesh_ as a shield! That's supposed to be your last choice!” she shouted in a mix of anger and frustration. “It's like your body is nothing for you! You’re not trying to_ not get hurt_ anymore!”

“I’m… I’m not?” Soul blinked, surprised as he realized it himself.

In all of his frenzy of not letting Maka get hurt, he never even once thought about his own body.

Maka blinked back at her weapon’s stunned expression, her anger slowly replaced by worry. “You… didn’t realize?”

He slowly shook his head. Now that she phrased it like that, it was clear that his method of protecting was indeed suicidal. He didn’t know when his definition of protecting changed from _shielding_ to_ become a shield_. If he really thought about it, there was no other weapon that was so willingly taking a blow like him. Not Tsubaki, not Liz and Patty, not even Death Weapons like Spirit Albarn. No matter how trained they were, they couldn’t ignore their survival instinct.

But no, not him. His own life had never felt that worthy. _He_ had never felt himself mattered. Ever. So he couldn’t help that his first instinct of seeing Maka in danger was to throw himself into the fire line.

“Soul?” Maka shook her mute weapon. He didn’t respond, still sat rigidly with the same stunned expression. She sighed and gently took his head to her chest. “You’re my best friend, Soul. I’m hurting when you’re hurt. I really care about you. So you have to care about yourself too.”

Unfortunately, she had an inkling of what caused the problem.

The meister supposed Soul’s past played a pretty big part of his suicidal protecting instinct. She didn’t know his life before Death City that much, but by what she had gathered and observed, she knew he hated his past self (and a bit of the current too, apparently). Whatever occurred in the past made him didn’t value himself, like he was nothing significant, something totally replaceable. As if whatever happened to him didn’t matter. Maybe he just wanted to be useful, for once, even if it meant harming himself. But that wasn’t exactly healthy.

Thinking about what could make her Soul that way was so painful. All she wanted to do was to hug him dearly, shelter him from the world and just make sure he was well loved, but she knew it wouldn’t do. They were a pair of DWMA students. Fighters. Not normal teenagers. She had to be strong, and more importantly, she wanted Soul to be strong, so she bit back her sniffles and strengthened herself.

She stared at her weapon’s unfocused red eyes, a storm of dumbstruck, confusion, uncertainty, self-loathing, and fear consumed them. It made him looked like a lost child.

“Are you okay?”

Soul nodded absently, still too taken aback to properly listen.

He didn’t realize his past had made him that damaged. That broken. That self-destructive.

Maka let out a defeated sigh, shocking him with her next words, “You know, if you still couldn’t value yourself just yet, just think of me.” She squeezed his shoulders, squaring up her own and ignored a tinge of embarrassment at what she’d about to do. “Just… Listen… And think of what would happen to me if you’re gone.”

And she nudged him with a resonance, gently laying out all of her concern, her solid trust, and her love for him (even though she didn’t include _that_ kind of love. That part would still remain a secret for a good while). Her soul slammed him with the enormous weight of her feelings and repeated them in endless loop.

_‘You’re a part of me. If you’re gone, I’m incomplete.’_

She continued to mentally shout all of her worry, all of the ridiculously suffocating fear of losing him, all of her terrifying dreams of what would happen to her if he was gone.

_’My world would be broken without you. Please don’t let yourself go. I need you.’_

The scythe unconsciously leaned further into her chest, basking greedily in her gentle but fierce soul waves. She had expressed how much she cared for him countless of times. But no, never this way. Never this fierce. Never this heavy. The fact that she said them with her soul made it hundredfolds more believable.

_‘You’re a significant presence in my life. You’re an irreplaceable person.’_

He wasn’t sure if she really understood the core problem, but something told him she did. Painfully did. Far better than himself. Even when she was hugging him with that strong and unrelenting posture, her soul told him she was saddened beyond words of what made him that way. Of how come he could be that way. It strangely didn’t felt like pity, but rather a frustration because _he_ deserved so much more.

Then she whispered aloud words that flipped his switch:

_“You matter.”_

He wrapped his arms on her waist rather desperately, burying himself further and let a tear rolling down his cheek in silence. Maka stayed still while he cried without a sound.

It was the very first time someone ever said those kind of words to him.

As he began to melt into her embrace, Soul decided that however unhealthy his instinct was, he was grateful that it was this kindhearted girl he’d devoted his life to. That it was this amazing girl he had fallen in love with. Because she just might… She just might give him the reasons to start valuing himself. She just might make him start to think that he was indeed deserved better.

Was it wrong to think that he still wanted to be her shield?


	5. Day 5 : Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All in all, it was pretty cool to have two symbols of his deepest feelings carved on both sides of his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly a SoMa interaction, but the context certainly is. This is a side story of my /unpublished yet/ Falling Underground fic, or Gokusen AU, can be read as a standoffish though

Day 5 : Angel [AU]

* * *

“All done, Boss.”

Harvar tidied his tools, staring at his masterpiece on the young Nagase Family underboss’s back with pride and satisfaction (although it only showed in the tiniest hint of smirk). The design was of Izanami no Mikoto, the Japanese goddess of death. It almost covered the young head’s entire back, containing very intricate details of the goddess bordered with, interestingly, four red and black Grim Reaper-style scythes on each corner.

A tattoo was not a mere decoration for a yakuza. It represented their way of life, their honor, the purpose of their life; a symbol of their soul.

“That’s an impressive one for a first irezumi[1]. I actually start to think these four hideous years of dealing with your goddamn picky ass was worth it,” Harvar said, snapping photos of his client’s back. “I might reconsider my decision of naming you my worst client.”

His white haired client gave a scoff, taking the smartphone and started inspecting the finished picture. “Really now? I was under the impression that the honor goes to Black☆Star.”

“That it does.” The tattoo artist mentally shuddered at the thought of another Nagase Family underboss, who frequented his shop to demand him doing irezumi of his godawful designs. Fortunately, Harvar managed to steer him into the saner ones. And the end product was certainly splendid, with a black star in his right shoulder, a warrior god on his back, and complicated designs of camellias and chain scythes covering his chest and upper arms. Still, Harvar was convinced he was half deaf from suffering the obnoxious yakuza’s unhealthy amount of decibels every time he did the tats.

“Words on the street told me the inner circle is considering you to take over Mifune-san’s position,” Harvar continued. “Nice job climbing the clan, Young Master Eater.”

The client snorted, “You calling me that is cringe worthy.”

“Is Aniki[2] better, then?” Harvar received a dark look at this. He made an amused huff, glancing at the scar on the client’s torso, “So basically you’re celebrating by carving a second symbol of devotion to your girlfriend, huh. Sap.”

The client snorted again, but this time there was a hint of fondness at the mention of his lover. “Hey, you got my money.”

The white haired young man stood in front of the full body mirror, staring at an old long scar that diagonally divided his bare chest. That was his first symbol of his devotion to the love of his life. He got that when he used his body to shield her from a katana[3] strike. His three weeks stay at the hospital wasn’t pleasant, but that was the point where his seven-years-older lover started to see him as a man, so it was a plus.

After buttoning his red dress shirt, he stared again at his phone, admiring his finished irezumi of the goddess Izanami. That was his second symbol of devotion. There was a reason why his normally plain-looking girlfriend was called the _Angel of Death_. Her petite build, cute pigtails, and wide childish green eyes were full of an angel’s innocence. That façade was sinfully deceptive, however, because she could beat the shit out of grown ass men and pile them up in an alley with ease. Not to mention her status as the heiress of a yakuza clan. _His_ clan.

He'd spent three months doing research about angel of deaths and had taken a liking to the Japanese underworld goddess (he ended up being an expert about shinto gods and each of their stories), then had spent a month more arguing with Harvar about the best (and totally cool) Izanami design.

People had started calling him _Death Scythe_ around the same time his girlfriend received her nickname. Since he sort of liked that, he had scythes drawn around his Izanami as a representation of his will to protect all of her with his life, colored with the red from his eyes and the black from his soul. The scythe’s western design clashed with the Izanami’s Japanese one, but it went surprisingly good together. Just like them, he supposed.

He'd never told his girlfriend when he decided to get inked nor the meaning behind his first irezumi, but something told him she understood, when she'd seen the unfinished tattoo for the first time and flushed that pretty pink all over her face.

All in all, it was pretty cool to have two symbols of his deepest feelings carved on both sides of his body.

“You know,” Harvar mused, widening his smirk. “Whatever bullshit they said about how dangerous you are, you’re just a big dork, Evans.”

Soul Evans smirked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Irezumi : japanese tattoo [ return to text ]  
2 Aniki : big brother, usually used by yakuza juniors to address the seniors they respect [ return to text ]  
3 Katana : japanese sword [ return to text ]


	6. Day 6 : Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although he hadn’t worked up the courage to confess his feelings hence they’re certainly not dating, he didn’t have a plan to stop these kind of things either. It felt nice, pretending to be her caring boyfriend.

Day 6 : Hands [Mangaverse]

* * *

He glanced at her from his blade again.

There was obviously something wrong with Maka, but he couldn’t tell what. She was just as bold and kickass as usual, handling him expertly while parkouring around to avoid the enemy’s attacks in relative ease. There was no sign of any physical injuries either. Her eyes were gleaming and her voice was just as airy, but there was definitely something wrong with her.

Her wavelength was what tipped him off. Around 95% of it was concentrated on resonating with him to defeat the Listed Soul in front of them, but the rest was screaming ‘_it hurts, it hurts, it hurts’._

_“Maka, what—”_

_“Focus, Soul!”_

_“But Maka—!”_

_“Now, Soul! Play the Adagio!”_

Their mind dialogues were cut short by one of the enemy’s violent attack. Soul cursed mentally, but complied as he walked into the Black Room, ignoring the snickering Little Demon. He exhaled, preparing to take the stage.

Right when he pressed the first key of the slow dark melody, the enemy froze in trance-like state. Maka leapt high and in an instant his blade was striking them right in their middle, leaving a glowing red blob hovering where they once stood. Soul sighed, then shifted into his human form, breaking the resonance. He just swallowed the corrupted soul when he heard a collapsed sound and turned back to see Maka writhing while clutching her stomach.

“MAKA!”

She just made an incoherent sound, grimacing in pain.

“Maka, what’s wrong?! Did they got you somewhere?” he demanded.

“No… just…” Maka’s tiny moan answered him, “……cramps.”

He blinked. Oh.

Soul exhaled, it was not serious but didn’t make him any less worried. Maka’s cramps had always been bad. Like, _very bad._

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

The weapon carefully lifted his meister off, both hands firmly hold around her shoulders and under her knees, then walked quietly into the night. The silence was only disturbed by Maka’s occasional whimpers.

* * *

He managed to find a small inn and quickly settled his meister down to the bed before dashing out to hunt for painkillers. The innkeeper received his grateful sighs when she handed him the pills.

Maka was still in the same position he laid her earlier, minus her Spartoí white coat. She grumpily sat up when Soul poked her with a glass of water and the painkillers. She swallowed two and slumped back to the pillow, waiting for the medicine to kick in.

Soul didn’t exactly keep track of his meister’s cycle, but he usually knew when it was around the corner. It seemed like the past weeks of intense training with Spirit had greatly distracted him. If he had known, he’d never let Maka take the mission to begin with, because Maka tended to start having mild cramps one or two days before, and on the actual week, it was downright _excruciating._

The mission was at least one-star too hard for the juniors and the bastard was very elusive, requiring a meister with Soul Perception. It looked like a tough mission, but in reality it wasn’t that hard. The enemy was dangerous, yes, but the problem itself wasn’t exactly urgent or prioritized, they didn’t have to take the mission right away. Honestly, Maka’s extended Soul Perception wasn’t really needed. Heck, even Ox’s level was enough for the job. (And Soul was already a Death Scythe, meaning they didn’t have to collect souls unlike their friends, so no obligation). She must had known that, but took the mission anyway. She was dumb like that.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he grumbled to the nightstand, putting down the glass.

Maka made an annoyed grunt, “I’m not exactly planning on having cramps in the middle of a fight, Soul.”

Soul sighed, perching on his miserable meister’s bedside and frowning in exasperation. She really should know better. Taking missions on her cycle had never been a good idea. It always ended in distracted fights or uncomfortable travels. For her weird body, apparently broken ribs were dandy compared to uterus-related pains, to the point where she was already walking three days after her leg got crushed but was completely out of commission for two whole days just from stomach cramps.

“You okay there?”

A pained whine replied him, so he scooted closer to her head board.

“C’mere, you stubborn girl,” he patted his thigh.

He positioned himself as her pillow while she made her head comfortable on his lap. This kind of intimacy had begun to become a casual sight around their apartment. Although he hadn’t worked up the courage to confess his feelings, hence they were certainly _not_ dating, he didn’t have a plan to stop these kind of things either. (It felt nice, pretending to be her caring boyfriend.) Soul’s heart rate quickened, but not enough to distract him from his meister’s miserable state. He just started stroking her hair when she whimpered again.

“Should’ve known better, you idiot. Fighting while your womb trying to murder you isn’t exactly picnic,” Soul grumbled in annoyance. He_ nagged_, complained about someone’s lack of common sense, stupid stomach cramps and stubborn meisters. “Why did you take this mission anyway?”

An impossibly innocent voice came from his lap, “Because I have you?”

_That_ made him silent. He scowled to hide his sudden urge to go scarlet. If that was not a flirting attempt, then she was denser than Black☆Star in the middle of his godly speeches. If that was indeed a flirting attempt, then she was downright cruel.

“Hands,” she demanded, reaching for him.

Soul did harder to stifle his blush this time, letting his hand being herded to her belly like many other times before. He snaked his palm under her uniform, gently rubbing her flat tummy. Maka let out a contented sigh and started to doze off, if not for Soul’s low whisper:

“Hey Maka?”

“Hmm?”

Two people could play this game. So he used his most casual voice with just a right amount of curiosity, “Why did you always use my hand to do this?”

Maka froze. She'd already hoped Soul would never ask that particular question since they’d been doing this for months. The girl snuggled to her weapon closer to hide her pinked cheeks. “No reason,” she mumbled with a forced annoyance.

Soul scowled at the hint of finality in her voice. _Of course she wouldn’t tell._ Who was he kidding?

Maka hid her face further to Soul’s thigh. _Of course she wouldn’t tell._ Because Maka didn’t think that Soul would be pleased to know it was one of her subtle attempts at flirting with him. Even if the planet’s fate depended on it, she would never admit that she'd became addicted to his hands since he instinctively soothed her stomach cramps with those maybe-enchanted palms many-many months ago. She would never admit that she liked the feeling of his big and warm hands rubbing gently on her tummy a little too much, easing her pain like her personal hot water bottle.

And especially she would never ever admit that she chose this mission right on her cycle because she knew Soul would fuss over her and she loved pretending to be his pampered girlfriend.


	7. Day 7 : Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There could be something wrong with Maka right about now, because the percentage of something going wrong in his life was pretty high.

Day 7 : Rhythm [Mangaverse]

* * *

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

Soul tried to focus on his breathing instead of cursing the streetlight for not turning green fast enough. His hand was itching to rev the bike. He could trespass the light, sure, but '_this isn’t a mission and there’s no monsters to hunt, Soul, you can’t misuse your Death Scythe title to get away with things' _

_'Yes, Kid, I know,' _he answered his own thought begrudgingly. He absolutely hoped he could fly instead of drive, but alas, Maka wasn’t there.

Actually, Maka was the reason why he raced down the city meisterless to begin with.

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

He really wished his forced breathing pattern could control both his frantic heartbeat and his urge to murder everyone, really. Fuck Kid and his undeathly time for a conference. Fuck the Witch Order for proposing to hold the meeting in their realm. And especially fuck Spirit for bailing out from taking over his Death Scythe job in this particular week. Oh yeah, that old man was probably already in Maka’s side now, completely happy to take over _his_ _job over there_. The bastard.

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

In the instant the light bleed green, he revved his bike hard enough to lift the front tire. Ignoring angry curses and loud klaxons from the drivers around him, he raced to Death City General as fast as his Dyna Super Glide allowed him to.

He had been out of town for the last two days, representing Kid to the conference inside the Witch fucking Realm. Meaning no signal, no internet, no news from Maka, and no Death’s Mirror to transfer him back directly to the city in case of emergency. The position of his new god might be shifted to Marie, for she was the one bringing the news personally to the Witch Realm and had kindly taken over his Death Scythe job there. Bless her and her daughter, and maybe her husband too, if Soul was feeling so kind.

But no, he wasn’t feeling so kind. Actually, fuck Stein too, because the mad scientist was the one informing in gruesome detail to Spirit about what could go wrong with Maka, causing him to bail out in the last minute.

Shit. There _could_ be something wrong with Maka right about now, because the percentage of something going wrong in his life was pretty high. His prided bike suddenly started to feel too slow.

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

Tsubaki was the one calling him the instant he got out from the Realm, informing him that she would take care of the things back in Evans-Albarn household so he could go straight to the hospital. Black☆Star was the one delivering his bike precisely at the front of Witch Realm’s gate before jumping into said gate to help Marie finishing the job he left back there faster. Bless his godly tattoo. He might as well be Soul’s new god too.

Much to his relief, he could already see the hospital. He revved his bike roughly, pulling it to the parking lot. The emergency unit was full and he already felt a little lost, but a tiny nurse nudged him and gestured to follow her.

“This way, Death Scythe. Your wife is waiting for you.”

He muttered a cracked thanks and trailed behind the nurse.

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

The nurse’s eyebrow climbed a bit at his admittedly loud breathing pattern. Figured. It was the rhythm commonly used for staving off anxiety (and he had always used it since childhood). Well, no one could blame him, he really did feel anxious. It was nearly three hours since Marie informed him Maka’s water broke.

But when he stormed into Maka’s room, they hardly even started. He dashed over to his wife’s bedside, ignoring Spirit’s sputters and death threats. “Maka…” he breathed, holding her hand. “Maka, I’m here…”

“Soul…” She gritted her teeth, “Dammit… Soul, IT HURTS!!”

What was he supposed to answer? _I’m sorry?_

“It’s gonna be okay, Maka, I’m here, it’s okay!”

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

The doctor did Death knew what between Maka’s legs, but two seconds after that she shouted, “Okay, Mrs. Evans-Albarn, on my command. One… two… three… PUSH!”

“DEATH DAMN AAARGHHH!!!”

It probably was the most violent and colorful baby delivery the hospital had ever seen. (Soul later knew the record apparently was still held by Kamiko Albarn.) But from what he could conclude, it was running pretty smoothly. Still, Maka’s screams and loud curses sent his anxieties blowing to the top. He didn’t even realize Spirit had been forcefully escorted outside for making a scene.

His wife was ridiculously strong. She had received far too much serious injuries for him to remember, but he had never heard her screaming bloody murder as if being dissected using rusted saw without any anesthetic like this. He completely went numb, and if Maka’s scythemeister hand had crushed his fingers to oblivion, he couldn’t tell the difference. He was just continuously whispering supports to Maka’s ear while trying his hardest to keep his own patterned breathing.

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

“NGGGHHH—KID FUCKING DAMMIT—GAHHHH!!!”

If there was someone who noticed that Maka had shifted her curses to their current god’s childhood nickname, they didn’t comment. (But then again, it was an inside joke between Spartoí members). Soul himself tried to avoid glancing at whatever happened in between his wife’s legs, intensely focusing on her scrunched up face instead.

_Eight_ curses of Kid’s name later, a loud cry filled the room.

Soul’s shoulder slumped in a weird mix of happiness and giddy excitement sprinkled with a little fear. Maka’s harsh breathing was still loudly audible, but she was smiling in triumph. The doctor announced, holding a bundle full of still fluid (and blood)-covered baby, “Congratulations, it’s a healthy baby girl!”

The Death Scythe’s laugh croaked at the sight of his daughter. Yes, they had known their baby’s gender for months, but being told directly after her birth still caught him by surprise. They couldn’t stare at her for long, because the doctor took her to be bathed.

Soul shifted his attention to his wife, who was still smiling brightly at him. He stared at her in bursting admiration. Hell, he practically worshiped her like she'd painted the sky with her own hands.

“You’re the coolest wife a man could ever dream to have, y’know that?” he swiped her bangs to distract himself from crying. His wife replied by tugging him down for a bone-crushing hug.

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

After a while, the nurse came back with their baby, beaming at their city’s strongest Weapon-Meister pair, “Ready to meet your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Evans-Albarn?”

Soul let out a nervous laugh, wiping the corners of his eyes and leaned to the bundle. He caressed his daughter’s red cheek gingerly. Now that she was clean he could see that she had his white hair and Maka’s tiny round face. A slight green peeked from under the baby’s eyelashes, hinting she had her mother’s emeralds as well.

He had been afraid to hold the baby, but now he realized that he longed to. As if on cue, the nurse motioned for him to hold his daughter. He sent Maka unsure looks and received an encouraging nod back.

He shakily (and excitedly) took the bundle, staring in awe at his still sniffling baby. “Hi there, Chii. I’ve been dying to meet you,” he giddily croaked. Maka made muffled snicker noises, her eyes gleaming at her husband’s affectionate voice.

They had decided to give the baby a Japanese name if it was a girl and a Welsh one if it was a boy. Soul didn’t feel a single spark of disappointment when the cake he cut on their gender reveal party revealed pink frosting. The name Maka’s mother had suggested was pretty cute in his ears; Chieki. (He'd excitedly thought of a nickname on their way home from the party and had fondly called Maka’s growing tummy with_ Chii_ ever since. He really liked the nickname, because it made whoever called the baby to smile.)

Soul placed Chii on Maka’s side as gentle as he could. “She’s so adorable,” Maka commented, poking Chii’s rosy cheeks, making the baby let out a tiny whine. Soul approved with a hum.

“I bet she’ll look just like you when she grows up!” He playfully touched the baby’s hand with one finger, and to his surprise, she latched her little fingers around it almost immediately. His eyes widened as he beamed excitedly at his wife like a child on Christmas. “Hey, hey, Maka! Maka, look!”

And Maka squealed, the sight of both their linked fingers and her husband’s childish excitement were too adorable.

They continued to admire the newest addition in their little family until the baby drifted off to sleep. Her sniffling noises were too cute for Soul to handle, so he stared lovingly at the woman who gave birth to his daughter instead.

The lingering kiss he gave her was full of gratefulness and fierce love. “Thank you, Maka…” he whispered against her lips, “Thank you for giving me a family I always wanted.”

She tiredly hummed her response, commanding him to kiss her again with her eyes. Soul gladly obliged. “Love you, Soul…”

Maka felt him smiled. “Love you too, bookworm.”

_In for four, hold for seven, out for eight._

He was really glad that he didn’t use the breathing rhythm to stave anxieties anymore, but to calm his frantic heartbeat full of bubbling happiness. And maybe to brace himself for the commotions Wes would made when he heard the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chieki is the name of their child in my Falling Underground AU, I’m just too lazy to think of another name so…


	8. Day 8 [Bonus] : Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had never thought that coral pink lipgloss was dangerous.
> 
> No, it was downright lethal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING : The first part was a tiny crossover, contained a little bit spoiler of [How to Train Your Dragon : The Hidden World], not much, though, just a liiiittle very predictable part, promise. [I’m-sorry-not-sorry-to-include-my-other-OTP-but-yeah-I-couldn’t-resist]

Day 8 [Bonus] : Dangerous [AU]

* * *

He had never thought that coral pink lipgloss was dangerous.

It was Liz’s fault. The damn blonde pestered Maka about her lack of skin care and how important was makeup in a girl’s life about six times a day. Sure, the pigtailed girl wore makeups once or twice, but never she applied more than some puffs of powder and a layer of mascara. Even if she had to present herself more formally, she'd always made Soul do it (Soul himself was more knowledgeable about concealers and eye shadows, strangely). She'd never felt the need to learn.

But exposed to Liz’s influence at daily basis (and occasional jabs about her plain looks from her obnoxious god brother Black☆Star and her stupid roommate), Maka gradually opened her mind and finally relented to Liz, asking her for tips and went shopping together for skin cares and some makeups to wear daily. (And maybe also for her and her roommate’s _not-dates_, who knew.)

Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) for Soul, she chose a certain coral-pink colored lipgloss.

Soul didn’t know if he should kick or thank himself for teasing his roommate’s appearance on their last _not-date_, because she decided to wear it for the first time on their_ not-date _that night.

She emerged from her room with a schooled look, but there was a little pink on her cheekbones that Soul wasn’t sure was of natural cause or from her new set of blush-ons. He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic at her for taking her sweet fucking time dolling herself up, but what came out was something distinctly uncool along the line of “Whydyouhhhhmmmwha—?” because god planned his eyes to land straight on her lips.

On her glossy pink plump lips.

Maka had always had a cute pair of lips, but that particular shade of pink seemed to make her tiny lips stood out unhealthily bright, as if they had a giant red target that whispered '_c’mon, Soul, you shouldn’t waste any time wondering how these lips taste like'._

Forget the _Little Demon_ inside his brain, this whisper was so fucking harder to ignore.

Soul realized in time how uncool he was being, staring dumbly at her lips like an idiot. He cleared his throat, immediately toned down his blush to what he thought was a more manageable level before Maka could ask what was wrong, then grabbed his jacket and keys, and finally jerked his head to the door as a sign for them to just go to the stupid cinema already.

Maka wanted to watch the last part of the _How to Train Your Dragon_ series. She had been a devoted fan to the franchise for as long as he knew her. His skull had received one of her most painful Maka-Chops to date for making her Toothless plushie a pillow and drooled on it.

Soul himself preferred thrillers and bloody gores instead of fantasy and adventures, but the animation and the story was pretty cool. And for his musician ears, the breathtaking background scores didn’t hurt either. But more importantly, it made Maka happy, so win-win all around.

She had gone full fangirl mode when they lined for tickets, squealing about how great Astrid Hofferson was, and that the blonde viking warrior was one of her most favorite characters ever. Well, she was one of Soul’s fave as well, but he couldn’t help but paying more attention to _her_ instead of her words.

Maka was adorable in a plain shirt, a black pleated skirt and dark stockings (one of his old jacket she was wrapped in also helped greatly), beaming and babbling happily. But his actual problem was that the cursed coral-pink lipgloss had made her adorableness multiplied to a near illegal level.

He’d very like to smash their lips together and see what would happen. For science, of course.

“Soul, do you hear me?” she pouted, curling her lips into a tiny scowl because he apparently had spaced out for god knew how long.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Astrid’s cool,” he said flatly. He dearly hoped for her to stop that pout because it only made her cuter and he’d prefer to stay a cool guy instead of turning into a mushy sap, thank you very much.

Maka was not convinced. She slit her eyes and began that suspicious tone of hers, “You don’t hear anything I’ve said, do you?”

Soul winced mentally, but answered with a straight face, “Trust me Maka, I get what you’re trying to brainwash me with. Geez. Calm your tits, woman.”

Maybe the Maka-Chop he received was well deserved. But really, he got it. How could he not understand why Astrid Hofferson was great?

She was a warrior, a fighter, and a badass one at that. She was determined, independent, and didn’t need no man. She was passionate, kind, and hardworking. She was hot headed, fierce, stubborn, a force to be reckoned with. And maybe because she also had blonde hair. And round cheeks. And button nose. And wide eyes.

Okay. Maybe he and Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third shared a type.

Soul groaned inwardly, forcing himself to focus on the movie when they finally sat down in the theater. For his credit, he really did try his best to lose himself in whatever was happening on the screen, but he was greatly distracted by Maka’s reactions. The cute squeals she made were too much.

Well, he managed to keep his hands and mouth to himself for the good deal of the movie. He even managed to not freak out because they shared a soda and a little bit of pink was left on the straw. But when Hiccup kissed Astrid after their wedding, his eyes immediately darted to those torturous lipgloss coated lips. He gulped. Maka made the situation worse by happily making mushy kissy faces after witnessing her ship kissing on screen. How come just watching a kiss scene with his best friend on his side could turn him into a puddle of blushing mess? Soul thanked all gods who listened because the darkness hid his ferocious blush.

He groaned to his palms. Since when had he became a middle school girl in front of her crush?

He was so screwed.

Maka was still happily chatting about the movie when they left the cinema and walked to get his bike. Soul had to apologize mentally because he couldn’t tell what half of the movie was about. He just nodded and hummed whenever he thought it was appropriate to interrupt her babbling, trying to distance his sight from her face as far as possible.

“Soul, are you alright?”

Maka’s worried voice jerked him awake from his inner turmoil. She had stopped in their tracks and held his arm, making him stop with her.

“Yeah, why d’you ask?”

“Because you’ve been awfully quiet tonight. Are you feeling unwell? Or did you not enjoy the movie?” her brow furrowed.

Great. Now he made her worry.

“M’fine, Maka. Let’s just go home.”

Without waiting for her answer, he turned to the parking lot and half jogged to his bike. Whether it was because his eyes were down-casted or because his mind was too preoccupied, he didn’t see a black motorcycle coming to his direction. All he knew was he felt a nasty crash on his right and landed harshly on the pavement right after.

“SOUL!”

Maka bolted to his side, helping him stand and frantically checked for injuries. He waved her and the profusely apologizing motorcycle driver off, repeatedly saying he was okay and it was his fault for not looking ahead. He just had a tinge of pain at his forehead and maybe a bruise on his right shoulder, concealed under his leather jacket.

“You’re bleeding,” Maka frowned, touching his forehead.

Soul refrained from hissing. “S’not that bad. I can patch it at home.”

Really, all he wanted was to lock himself in his room and despairing about how uncool he'd been that night. And maybe cursing that coral-pink lipgloss for messing with his cool. Or maybe cursing her lips. Or her in general.

“No!” she scolded, taking his hand, “You shouldn’t leave a wound untreated!”

So instead he found himself being herded to a nearby pharmacy and forced to sit on a bench, with an angry-looking Maka nagging him while treating his wounds.

“How could you be so careless? You’re lucky it’s only a minor injury! If that bike ran to you head on, you’d be in a hospital by now!”

He tried his best to look away from her, but she was way too close, gently dabbing a cotton ball on his forehead. The fact that she was so pretty even when she was angry didn’t help anything either. How could he control himself, when he saw her rounding her lips to blow his forehead with that cursed lipgloss all over it? Even her wide and bright green eyes were far more ridiculously endearing than usual. Soul sighed, forcing his eyes to look away. His whole being was dedicated to refrain himself from attacking his own roommate right then and there.

“Are you even listening to me?” she yelled in annoyance at his lack of response. “Look at me when I talk to you!”

His patience was starting to wear out. He shot her an irritated look and immediately regretted his decision, because she angrily _zoomed her face on him_ in her attempt to make him listen, and the first thing he realized was that her damn pink plump lips were five centimeters from his. Whatever comeback he had thought died in his throat while he watched her scowl. Was a scowl supposed to look that sexy?

“Seriously, what’s bothering you? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong!”

Her pink lips looked more and more edible by passing minutes, and every part of her seemed like so fucking happy to join in the quest of torturing him.

“You’re really starting to make me irritated, Mr. Evans!”

All of her was drawing him in like a moth to light. No, not light, but fire. She was also fierce and hot like a fire.

Shit, that made it worse.

“Soul! What is wrong with you?” Maka yelled yet again, still too blissfully dense about her friend’s inner frustration. His attempts to not jumping on her must had looked like he had no interest—or just plain annoyed—because instead of worry, his silence made her angrier. “I’m talking to you! Are you deaf? Answer me when I ask you, idiot! Where’s your snarky remarks when I need one? Shout, yell, bark or whatever, use that mouth of yours!”

_That _made him snap.

“Fine!” he snarled, slid his hand behind her neck and slammed his mouth to hers.

Ah. The lipgloss tasted like strawberry.

Maka let out a weak yelp as he continued to mold their mouths. He broke off before Maka could even process what he just did. She stared at him like he just grew a second head, mouth parted forming a little coral-pink ‘o’.

He was just smiling triumphantly at his work when he saw Maka had gone full scarlet.

Oh, fuck.

He felt his whole body scorching. Smokes could very well be steaming from his ears.

“Uh, I’ll just... get the bike.”

Without waiting for her to recover, he stormed up and dashed to the parking lot, contemplating on the easiest way to die in the next ten minutes while cursing himself in six different languages.

He had never thought that coral pink lipgloss was dangerous.

No, it was downright lethal.

* * *

She had never thought that dark-rimmed glasses were dangerous.

It was funny actually, because Soul had called her a bookworm all his life, but the first one getting a glasses was him. Well, maybe her preference to read in a bright room and his habit to play the smartphone in his dark room had contributed something.

He was very reluctant to get a pair of glasses at first, claiming that it was so uncool and it would make him look like a nerd. (Well, he was already a music nerd, but Maka had forgotten to comment.) Contacts were cool but he was too damn lazy to wear them every day. But when his eyes got worse, he'd agreed to get glasses, even though only after he made Maka promise that she would never force him to wear it outside of their apartment. It kinda defeated the purpose, but Maka let him do as he pleased anyway, too used to her roommate’s antics.

The first time Maka saw Soul wear the thing, he was adorable. The red-rimmed glasses were round and a little too big on his face, combined with his defiantly pouting face, making him absolutely endearing. He had to violently deny her squeals and coos because_ 'no, Maka, I’m definitely not fucking cute'._

Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) for Maka, Soul broke the frame in its third day.

She was never wholly convinced that he didn’t do it on purpose. So that evening she got him a second glasses, a square dark-rimmed pair that was smaller than the previous one. It should fit him just right. She threatened to mutilate the boy if he broke this one because_ 'it’s expensive, Soul, stop wasting the damn money'._

Soul begrudgingly inspect the thing before he put it on, scowling, “Never said you have to buy me another one, ‘cause I—Maka?” he stopped, waving his hand in front of her. “Ooooi, pigtails? Are you in there?”

Because Maka had just frozen with mouth gaped like a fish.

“Huh?” she blinked dumbly. “Uh, yeah, whatever. You’re stuck with that glasses and you better treat it like a family heirloom or I’ll reconsider my policy on chopping you with my Order of the Phoenix.”

She stormed into her room and slammed the door shut, blushing heavily behind it. That was _very_ unplanned. When she purchased the frame, it looked so plain and dull. One might even say it was a little nerdy, given her tastes. She was so not prepared for the dark-rimmed specs to hang on his face so deliciously or how it made Soul’s eyes sharper and redder than ever. The instant he put it on, he somehow went from dorky to _sexy _in two seconds flat.

And it did things to her, stirring up butterflies she'd stubbornly suppressed with laughable ease. It made her warm and tingling, thinking about _things_ she’d very like to do to him that she must swim in a holy water pond after for.

Instead of sulking, Maka poured all of her new conflict into her homeworks, violently abusing the pens and scratched the papers as if they were responsible for the turmoil inside her head. She kept scribbling in anger at undeathly speed she might as well finish all assignments for next semester. But her mind kept stubbornly straying at a certain boy next room.

Stupid dark-rimmed spectacles. Stupid red eyes. Stupid Soul.

Maybe she really had to chop him with her Order of Phoenix. Or chop herself. Whichever would purify her mind of these scandalous thoughts the best.

Maka hadn’t realized she was asleep until she heard rapid knocks on her door.

“Oi, Maka! Get up! You’re the one who wanna go to the campus a fucking two hours early so hurry up and get your ass out here! I made breakfast!”

She blinked blearily at the alarm in front of her. It pointed at seven in the morning, making her jolt awake when she realized she was still on her desk and apparently had slept through her alarm; an impossibly rare thing to happen. She had a fuzzy memory of what happened before she passed out. All she remembered was a weird dream full of white hairs, many reds, and a distinctive shaped dark-rimmed glasses.

Maka cursed herself quietly and made a beeline to the bathroom. She needed to wash her muddy brain if she had to prepare herself for the combination of Soul’s stupid red eyes and the damn specs again. The water helped, somehow, and after furiously brushed her teeth, she decided she was ready.

The smell of bacon and scrambled eggs lured her to the dining room, where her portion was already laid beautifully on the table. The Nujabes playlist on speaker told her Soul was in the kitchen, maybe still working on those beloved caramel french toasts of his. He liked to listen to _cool playlist_ when doing mundane house chores, to keep his coolness level high even with laundry in his arms or an apron on his front, or so he said.

True to her thoughts, a minute later Soul set a plate down her side. “French toast?”

“Yeah, thank yo—” Maka’s fork froze midway to her mouth when she finally lift her face to see her roommate.

Her bespectacled roommate. Without any hair gels. And with no shirt.

God would be kinder if he took her right on her spot.

Okay, she had known that Soul tended to sleep without shirts on summer because his room was the hottest in their apartment, and she had known seven in the morning was too early for Soul to bother with any hair gel. She had also known that she really liked him without any shirt on, because his body had became the walking definition of sexy since he'd had his growth spurt. She had also known that hair down combined with sleepy eyes gave him a calmer and more mature look.

But throw in a dark-rimmed glasses to the picture, and it would be written on her tombstone as Maka Albarn’s cause of death.

He leaned lazily to his plate, chewing a bite of toast and scrolling on his smartphone, humming to Midicronica’s San Fransisco, blissfully unaware of his rapidly reddening friend. Maka couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight in front of her. The damn specs seemed to vastly emphasize Soul’s already attractive features. How his red irises seemed to glint slightly because of the lights bounced on the lenses, or how his long lashes swept the frame enticingly, or how it brought out his dimples when he grinned, as if ‘look at me, I’m delicious’ was written all over his face. His deep voice humming to the song’s refrain made it worse.

She didn’t even know how the glasses managed to steer her eyes into his other features too, namely his biceps and his bare chest. They always look good, but with that cursed specs’s magic they were _breathtaking._ Even the supposedly traumatic diagonal scar he'd earned in a motorcycle accident at 15 was making him sexier.

He could preach all he wanted about him being _cool_ but it would never cover the fact that he was _hot._

Oh, God. She shouldn’t think of that.

She tried to blink when Soul licked a drop of coffee from his upper lip and set his mug down. It was torturing to restrain herself from trying to taste that particular drop of coffee too.

She was in so much trouble.

Maka didn’t know how her food tasted, or even remember how an egg should taste like. All she knew was she had a very attractive roommate, and she had to try her damndest beating every urge to kiss him senseless.

Soul got up after what felt like the longest breakfast Maka had ever experienced and motioned to take her plate. It was his turn to do the dishes. He stopped when he saw Maka’s face and smirked his lopsided smile.

“You ate like a five-year-old,” he snorted, lifting his hand to wipe a scrap of egg off the corner of her mouth. For a moment, she just sat dumbly, watching his pianist fingers brushing her lips.

“Ah!” Maka yelped, wiping her mouth with a ferocious blush.

Then he did something that set Maka’s button off. He licked the egg off his finger and grinned with a teasing glint on his eyes. It would had earned him a Maka-Chop in normal situations, but his dark-rimmed glasses made those little glint looked like a spark of fire and doubled the effect of his mischievous grin.

_Okay, that’s it._

Before she could stop herself or even think about what she was doing, Maka got up, yanked the boy down and kiss him full on the mouth.

She broke away, smiling in triumph because she could make Soul stop dead and swept that stupid grin off of his face, replacing it with that ridiculously cute dumbstruck face.

Seemed like Soul’s brain had stopped working, failing to process what had just happened in the past ten seconds. He didn’t even appear to be breathing.

But after five whole seconds drowning in smug victory, Maka's own common sense was back in full force, slamming her with the fact that she'd just kissed her best friend and maybe also broke his brain in the process.

Her whole body was hot from the force of her blush, and before Soul could recover from his temporary brain malfunction, she bolted to her room and locked it within two seconds. There was nothing she wished more than to find a hole in the nearest cemetery and bury herself alive. She even contemplated to skip schools and her club activities altogether for a month. Or a year. Or forever.

She whimpered to her pillow. She was going to be crazy.

She had never thought that dark-rimmed glasses were dangerous.

No, it was downright lethal.


End file.
